


can't handle much more of this cold

by lotts (LottieAnna)



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Bonding, Coming Out, Communication, M/M, Soulmates, dunno how to tag for this but they can somewhat read each other's thoughts, handwaving the reality of being an nhl player, mentions of Auston Matthews, not without the other person's consent!, soulbond, they have feelings and they address them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-23
Updated: 2017-04-23
Packaged: 2018-10-23 04:10:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10711911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LottieAnna/pseuds/lotts
Summary: Dylan Strome goes to Edmonton to deal with, like, a lot of stuff. Mostly Connor, because they're apparently bonded, or whatever.





	can't handle much more of this cold

**Author's Note:**

> First RPF I've written! Thanks to ftchocoholic and to my boyfriend for their beta work. This takes place after Erie's March 27th win in Sarnia. I tried to keep it in line with their real schedules, but a few liberties were taken, so.
> 
> IF YOU FOUND THIS STORY FROM GOOGLING OR IF YOU KNOW ANYONE WHO IS REPRESENTED IN THIS STORY: I strongly urge you to click away! This is a work of fiction, and the events depicted in it are fictional.
> 
> Title is a lyric from "Golden Coast" by Allison Weiss (which is excellent, y'all should listen to it)

There’s something wrong, Dylan realizes after the game in Sarnia, and he has to leave-- to get out of here-- to get to Edmonton-- fast.   
  
Maybe it's the fact that he's still with the Otters that kept him from noticing sooner. It feels wrong being here, so the urge to escape to just hang out with Connor and pretend nothing’s wrong isn’t exactly new.   
  
But still-- something is wrong.   
  
It hits Dylan after they win, and all he can think about, celebrating on ice with his teammates, is how he wants to text Connor about it. Maybe, if Connor is around later (because he doesn't have a game until LA comes to them tomorrow), they can Skype. Dylan thinks of calling Connor now, but then realizes that he doesn’t have his phone, and he has to get off the ice to get to his phone, so he can get to Connor--   
  
And it strikes him, how much he's thinking about Connor when he isn't even feeling particularly down today. A win is still a win and hockey is still hockey, and he should be focusing on his team, but all he wants to do is think about Connor.   
  
He knows that there are doctors who specialize in this sort of thing, and that he should probably look up some of their contact info, or at least, like, WebMD the symptoms, but he also knows that what's going on here is not normal, and that it's because of Connor, and the more he thinks about Edmonton, the more his body is telling him to just _go go go_ .   
  
He skates off the ice with the rest of the guys, buys a plane ticket on his phone, and texts his billet dad that he'll be away for a few days.

* * *

 

Connor responds with a smiley face when Dylan texts him that he’ll be in town tomorrow, and offers to pick him up at the airport. Dylan tells him when he’s expected to touch down as the plane takes off, and it’s only then that Dylan realizes it’s late, and he has a 7 hour flight with only 50% battery and no suitcase, he didn’t even stretch out after the game, and he probably should be icing his bruises. And he’s fucking exhausted.

He sleeps most of the flight.

* * *

It’s not that this happens to everyone, but according to the most recent available data, approximately 26% of people experience spontaneous bonding. There are very few conclusions but a ton of theories flying around. Mitch knows a lot about it, because that’s how his parents met, and his mom diagnoses bonds for a living. He has a lot of his own theories, and Dylan’s regretting having tuned him out for so many of them, because right now, he’d take any information he could get on this.

He turns his phone back on the second they touch down, and is greeted with zillions of texts from Connor. He calls him immediately, much to the annoyance of the person next to him, but Dylan doesn’t really care.

“Hey,” says Dylan, because Connor picks up after one ring. “I haven’t read through your texts, what’s up?”

“Oh, I, uh, you were supposed to land five minutes ago,” says Connor. “I’m here, though.”

“How long have you been there?” asks Dylan.

“Uh, since like, 6?” says Connor.

“That’s-- shit, I don’t even know what time it is,” says Dylan.

“7:42 local time,” Connor fills in helpfully.

“Jeez, you have a game today,” says Dylan.

“I’ll be fine,” says Connor, “I’m just glad you’re here.”

“Do you--” Dylan doesn’t know how to finish his sentence.

“Yeah, we should--” says Connor.

“We will, it’s fine.”

“Are you getting off the plane?” he asks.

“Not moving yet,” Dylan replies.

“Can you stay on the line with me?” Connor sounds embarrassed to ask, even though the idea of hanging up had never even crossed Dylan’s mind.

“Of course,” says Dylan.

* * *

Connor looks good.

Connor always looks good, but he wears leadership especially well, and he’s racking up points in the NHL like it’s nobody’s business, and generally doing really good, so it’s no surprise that he looks good.

But it’s not just that. Dylan needs Connor right now, needs to be in his space, needs to be touching him, and Connor can feel it too, Dylan can see, by the way he’s waiting as close to departures as he can go.

“Do you have bags?” asks Connor.

Dylan shakes his head. “Just kinda…” he waves his hand, not finishing the sentence.

“Makes sense,” says Connor. “I was going to.”

Dylan raises an eyebrow. “You have a game today.”

“They would’ve called it a lower body injury and I’d have missed a few games,” he says.

This-- this is real, then, because Connor would never be this flippant about missing hockey games if it weren't.

“So,” says Dylan, “your car?”

* * *

They don't talk about it until they're in the car.

“Mitch said that-- that you can feel these things building for a bit, usually,” says Dylan. “I didn't know it was so sudden.”

“Did you notice anything?” Connor asks neutrally.

Dylan shakes his head no, but thinks for a minute. “I've-- I dunno, I've been a bit mixed up lately,” he says. “I guess-- if things weren't-- you know, if I weren't still in the O, it might've been different.”

“Oh.” Connor doesn't say anything in response.

“Did-- did you? Notice?”

Connor purses his lips. “I think so. I mean-- maybe, but like, it's hard to tell. Looking back, the symptoms were there, though.”

“Yeah,” says Dylan.

“Have you told anyone?” asks Connor.

“No,” replies Dylan. “We should see a doctor first.”

They end up going to a walk-in clinic, and Connor has to keep his hood up and sunglasses on, because he’s legitimately famous in Edmonton, and seeing a doctor who’s not the team trainer would raise suspicions. Maybe they _should_ go to a team doctor, but that thought only occurs to Dylan once they’ve given their name and info and Connor’s talked to the guy at the front about being discrete.

Dylan yawns, because he still hasn’t quite woken up from being asleep on the plane, and Connor’s right next to him, and his presence has Dylan feeling calm in a way he hasn’t in a long time, probably not since-- well, the last time he saw Connor.

He falls asleep on Connor’s shoulder, and wakes up when the doctor calls their names.

* * *

After answering a series of questions, both together and individually, Dylan and Connor are brought into an examination room for a final diagnosis.

“Well,” says the doctor, a young man who doesn’t seem too star-struck by Connor, “let me give you an overview: you guys are displaying symptoms of a pretty strong bond, so breaking it at this stage--” the thought of breaking the bond makes Dylan’s heart race with fear. A glance over to Connor reveals that he feels the same.

Well, at least they’re both in agreement.

“--would be both inadvisable and unpleasant,” the doctor says, smiling a little, probably because Dylan and Connor both have looks of abject terror on their faces.

“So, like, what do we do?” asks Connor. “I live here and he usually lives out in Pennsylvania, and we both travel a lot for, uh, work.” Connor doesn’t have to lie, but Dylan understands the impulse.

“Within twenty four hours the bond should settle down. I’d imagine you two will begin to pick up on each other’s emotional signals soon, if it hasn’t happened already.”

Dylan doesn’t think it has, but then again, he doesn’t pay attention to his emotions that much anyway.  

“When should I say I’ll be back by?” asks Dylan.

“You two take today and tomorrow to work things out. It won’t hurt either of you two to be apart right now, but the more distance, the more unpleasant things are,” he says. “It’s a lot of adjustment. Stick it out for now, though. Any questions?”

Dylan has tons of questions-- like, more than he can process-- but he doesn’t voice any of them. He does want to know about tonight, because the Kings--

“Can I play?” asks Connor. “I mean-- I’m a hockey player, and we have a game tonight, and I mean, would I have to mark it as an injury?”

It’s then that Dylan realizes the thought-sharing stuff is happening. He wonders if they both think about hockey so much that it doesn’t even feel like someone else’s thought. Still, if he focuses, he can separate out Connor.

“Typically, once united with their bondmate, people don’t take off time for work, so I don’t see any reason why it would impede your play,” says the doctor.

Dylan wonders if he can like, talk to Connor through the bond. He focuses hard on reaching Connor, but isn’t sure what he wants to convey, so he settles on _Hi, Davo._ He doesn’t know how it will sound in Connor’s head.

Connor perks up and turns to him, then awkwardly lifts his hand to wave. Which means Dylan’s experiment was successful, and also that Connor, even as one of the youngest captains in NHL history, is still super lame. Dylan giggles a bit, and feels a wave of fondness for Connor, and Connor must feel that too, because he blushes.

“Bonds are one of those things that you should very much trust your instincts on. If something feels wrong, or right, about what you’re doing, listen to that; generally speaking, it shouldn’t be unpleasant.” the doctor says. “The thought sharing elements are a little unnerving at first, but in general, people report the bond as a tool for facilitating communication, not a barrage of someone else’s unwanted thoughts, and when surveyed, people who are bonded tend to report high rates of satisfaction.” He talks about technical stuff for a few more minutes, urges them to find a permanent bond doctor, and then sends them on their way with a congratulations.

* * *

Connor lends Dylan a pair of shorts and a t-shirt, and it smells like Connor, which Dylan likes a lot. It’s nice to have clean clothes, and Connor takes Dylan to visit the trainers early, before morning skate.

“I should tell them,” says Connor.

“Yeah, probably,” says Dylan. “I should tell my parents.”

“I should still skate, but you can hang around here,” says Connor. “Hopefully they’ll let you like, work out.”

“Yeah,” says Dylan. “Man, I kind of wish I had homework to do.”

“Take that back,” Connor says instantaneously, and Dylan can feel Connor second guess it, scared that Dylan won’t find it funny.

Which is just absurd. Even if Connor’s jokes aren’t funny, Dylan will love them and laugh anyway.

Which is a thought that Connor picks up on, because he offers Dylan a shy smile.

“Dude,” is all Dylan says, and for some reason, he has an urge to hug Connor, so he does.

He doesn’t think it’s bond related.

* * *

After an awkward talk with the trainers, they agree to keep the bond under wraps for the next week at least, while things settle, and try not to freak out about the future and what it means for their careers. That’s not productive, and Dylan takes it upon himself to project positive thoughts at Connor as they walk towards the locker room.

“Hey,” says Dylan, “have you like-- thought at me?”

“Not consciously?” says Connor.

“Can you try? I kinda wanna feel what it’s like,” he says.

Connor looks up at the sky and furrows his brow, and then Dylan feels a sense of-- confusion, and worry, and curiosity, and a hesitant excitement. And there’s something more specific in it-- an intent. A message, even though it’s not a sentence. Which is probably more of what thoughts are like, but still, it’s not quite how Dylan imagined it would be.

“You’re-- can I say this out loud?” asks Dylan. It feels intimate.

“Go for it,” says Connor.

“You’re worried because neither of us is particularly upset about this,” says Dylan.

“Yeah,” says Connor.

“But you’re also not upset, and not being upset about something big-- that’s really good,” says Dylan.

“I-- I guess that’s not how I would have phrased it, but yeah, that’s it.”

“Huh,” says Dylan. This bond is already pretty useful, he thinks.

“Can you hear-- like, whenever you think about me, I sort of-- feel it? Like, nothing specific, just, I don’t have to read you anymore.”

“I’ve always been pretty much an open book,” Dylan says wryly.

“You don’t know what to make of this yet,” Connor points out.

“No, I guess not,” says Dylan.

“Why?”

“I mean--” instead of saying it, he just projects it outward; unsure of what bonding actually entails, of what it means for hockey, of what the precedents are, and if this is supposed to be something romantic, because he’s never met a bonded pair that wasn’t married, or at least engaged.

“Oh,” says Connor. “I mean-- it’s whatever we want, right?”

“Yeah, I know, but still, I haven’t even like, looked shit up yet.”

“You’re afraid to,” says Connor.

“A bit?” says Dylan. “I feel like we should talk to someone, but--”

“Not before our parents?” Connor says, finishing Dylan’s thought for him. Dylan’s starting to see where the mindreading myth comes from. “Dylan, we don’t owe it to them to tell them first. We’re adults.”

“Are we?” says Dylan. “I’m still a kid, by the NHL’s standards.”

“You’re not,” says Connor. “You know that’s not why you’re in Erie.”

Connor’s told him before, that the CHL agreement sucks, and Dylan got screwed over and humiliated in front of the whole hockey world, but at least he gets to be there for Erie, an organization that’s ecstatic to have him. But Dylan realizes that Connor _believes_ it, now.

“So what, if we don’t tell our parents first, then who?” asks Dylan.

* * *

It’s Mitch.

They call him from a deserted corridor in Rogers Place, the phone in Dylan’s hand.

“Hey, I’m driving, so you’re on speaker, what’s up?”

“Hey, Mitch, I’m with Connor right now. Uh.”

“Hey Davo, what’s up?” says Mitch. “Don’t you guys have a game tonight?”

“Yeah,” says Connor.

“Kick ass,” says Mitch. “But wait, Stromer, you’re in Edmonton?”

“Yeah,” Dylan responds. “There was a sort of, uh, emergency.”

“We kind of bonded?” says Connor, and the other line is silent for a second.

“Holy shit, guys,” Mitch says. “You two? With each other?”

“No, we conveniently bonded with other people, but in the same city,” says Dylan, and he feels Connor’s amusement at that.

“Hey, watch the sarcasm, Strome. I didn’t even know you guys were like-- I don’t know,” says Mitch.

“It’s not-- It’s not like that,” says Dylan, and he picks up on something from Connor, a small bit of disappointment, with a touch of protest, and it’s not as directed as the others have been; more like a leak. Dylan tunes it out, because that’s a conversation for later. “We haven’t been like, secretly planning to be life partners behind your back.”

“Is it like-- you know. A romantic thing?”

Dylan doesn’t know what to say to that, even though objectively, the answer is no.

Connor responds for him. “It’s complicated,” says Connor. “You know. Hockey.”

“I do know hockey, yeah. Played it once or twice,” says Mitch dryly. “I don’t see what that has to do with you two bonding.”

“We’re both guys,” Connor says, which is the elephant in the room-- they’re both guys, they’re _hockey players,_ they’re young and still trying to prove themselves, and as far as the public knows, they’re both straight.

Mitch is quiet for a second on the other end, and then plainly says “You guys need to talk some stuff out between you two, okay?”

“Okay, but--” Dylan says. “I don’t know. Besides that, is there like, anything we should know? You’re like, a bond expert.”

“I’m not an expert,” says Mitch, “and most of it is instinct, anyway. Like, you wanted to be together, so you apparently just went to Edmonton as soon as you could. Jesus-- how did you not see this coming? I can’t believe _I_ didn’t see it coming. You guys talk, like, every day.”

“You talk to me every day too,” says Dylan.

“Me sending you a Snapchat is not the same as you guys Skyping every night. You call each other more than you call your parents,” says Mitch.

“I don’t know, I just--” Dylan doesn’t want to get into his reasoning, because looking back, holy shit, it was so obvious. Connor sends him waves of reassurance, which he is infinitely grateful for.

“Okay, I guess it feels natural to you guys, but like, I don’t know. There are other bonded people in the NHL, y’know? The distance thing is fine. And there are, you know. Gay guys. Couples,” says Mitch.

“Those are rumors,” replies Dylan.

“Actually,” Connor says, and Dylan shoots him a surprised look before letting him know that he’s going to demand more information on _that_ later.

“Listen, let me know when you guys have questions, but like, I dunno, it’s a workable situation,” Mitch says. “You guys are gonna be fine. But like, work out your shit.”

“Great advice, thanks,” Dylan deadpans.

“Alright, I’m picking Matts up now, let me know what happens,” Mitch says.

* * *

Dylan works out while Connor skates, and being surrounded by so much Oilers-branded stuff is a little daunting. There are a few others guys in the gym, but no one’s paying him any much attention-- if they notice him at all, they say nothing. They either don’t know him, or assume he’s with Davo, and that’s just fine with him.

He shoots his mom a text that says “I have news,” and waits for her to respond.

He misses Connor.

It’s ridiculous, because Connor is literally in the same building as him, but they’re not together right now and they’re freshly bonded, so he thinks it’s normal to miss him. He picks up on a similar sentiment from Connor.

He lets Connor know that he’s bored, and hoping skate ends soon, and Connor shoots back that he’ll be done with everything in like, half an hour, and Dylan’s happy that Connor seems as eager to reunite with him as he is with Connor.

He should be. They’re bonded.

But it doesn’t make Dylan any less happy about it.

But they do have a lot of shit to work out, and this is the first moment he’s had alone, and he finally lets himself consider all of this.

Dylan has always had some sort of maybe-thing for Connor, but he’d gotten really good at tamping it down. Mostly because it hurts his brain to think about too much-- he doesn’t like Connor the way he’s liked other dudes, because there’s a difference between being attracted to a guy, and being halfway in love with a guy.

But the thing is, it’s a lowkey love. It’s the kind of love where like, if Connor dated someone, Dylan would cry for a few days, but then he could-- probably-- get over it. There hasn’t been any _need_ to get over it, so Dylan hasn’t gotten around to it yet, but he could.

It’s something they should talk about.

Dylan also doesn’t know if Connor’s straight. Before the whole bonding thing happened, he thought that Connor might be into him in some severely repressed Canadian hockey god way. Connor didn’t allow himself to like anything that wasn’t hockey, more or less, and if being into dudes would get in the way of the game, he’d just pretend like it didn’t bother him until the day he retired.

He doesn’t think that being into dudes will get in the way of his game. But apparently, Connor knows more about it than he does, so.

Connor doesn’t even know that Dylan likes dudes, which Dylan feels a little bad about. He wonders if Connor will feel lied to. He doesn’t think he’s done anything wrong, but he has the feeling that Connor might be upset about it anyway.

Connor asks him why he’s worrying so much, and Dylan doesn’t want to get into that much detail, so he tells him it’s okay, and to work on his skating.

Connor skips meeting with the media to check in with Dylan.

“Everything good?” he asks, and honestly, yeah, everything’s good on Dylan’s end, because Connor’s here now.

“Yep,” says Dylan.

“I just-- we’re gonna go over tape, then we can go back to my place and have some lunch,” says Connor.

“Okay.”

“I-- I think the ice is available. We probably have skates in your size somewhere around here.”

Dylan likes the thought of that, and he lets Connor know.

* * *

Dylan’s skating laps, headphones in his ears, seeing where his feet take him. He loves every part of hockey, but when he can focus on skating, it’s a relaxed kind of focus, without the same kind of intensity that comes with the rest of it. Right now, there are no drills, just a world of open ice to explore.

Having the ice to himself at Rogers Place is about as surreal as the rest of the day is, but he lets himself relax. He belongs on NHL ice anyway, he reminds himself bitterly.

Connor’s telling him that he’s on his way down the hall, and he’s excited to see Dylan on skates, and Dylan smirks. He probably looks dumb because he’s still wearing shorts, but he’s never too cold to skate, and he doesn’t have a change of clothes anyway.

“Hey,” says Connor out loud, and Dylan can feel Connor admiring his skating. But it’s not just admiration, he realizes, it’s some sort of... appreciation? Like Connor thinks his skating is beautiful. It’s a vulnerable thought, and it feels a bit like a confession.

“Hi,” is all Dylan says in response.

“We should get some food,” says Connor, and he’s definitely staring at Dylan’s feet, because Dylan’s still moving around the ice, even though his eyes are fixed on Connor.

“Yeah,” says Dylan, and he feels-- butterflies, or something, like all his feelings are rushing to the surface at once, despite his years of holding them down and telling himself it’s never going to change.

To ease the tension, Dylan showers Connor with snow as he stop in front of him, and Connor is a little indignant, but not offended.

Connor has something to tell Dylan, which doesn’t come as a surprise.

Dylan makes his way off the ice and sits down on the floor to take off his skates. Connor sits down next to him.

“So when we were talking with Mitch earlier-- about guys in the league-- I mean, I can’t tell you who,” Connor says, “because that’s, like, pretty shitty, but there’s-- they’re on the same team, and they’re like, living together, they even have a dog and stuff. So like, there are guys in the league. It’s alright.”

“Oh,” says Dylan. “Well, I guess that’s-- not surprising? Like, statistically.”

“Yeah,” says Connor. “I was, uh, surprised by it though.”

“I see that,” says Dylan, even though he’s hooked up with other hockey players before. “I. Uh, I’m--”

He tries to project it to Connor, but he doesn’t know how to put it, not without thinking about past hookups in great detail, or thinking about the times Connor fell asleep on his shoulder and Dylan couldn’t stop staring. Instead, he thinks about the feeling of having to keep it a secret, of retreating to private corners of the locker room just in case his eyes drifted towards another boy for too long and someone knew, even if he didn’t mean to stare. He thinks about seeing hockey hugs linger for a second too long, and locker room celebrations where he was sure to not get too close, in case it somehow turned into something else.

“Oh,” says Connor. “You’re--”

“Yeah,” says Dylan. “I-- I like guys.”

“Why didn’t you-- I mean, you don’t have to, but-- I would have been okay,” Connor says, and he thinks it at Dylan, and Dylan knows it’s true.

“I know,” says Dylan, “it’s just-- it’s always a lot of work, you know? And even if people aren’t like, angry, they still don’t know what to say.”

“Who does know?” asks Connor.

“Uh, my younger brother, Mitch, a couple of guys from the O, and I think my mom suspects something? I just, don’t do the whole, like, ‘coming out’ thing,” he says, adding air quotes.

“Oh,” says Connor. “I guess that makes sense, yeah. But like, even if you are, guys in the league are like, okay, you know? It won’t affect your game or anything. Like, you can--” Connor bites his lip to stop himself from completing that, and starts to giggle a bit, and Dylan laughs.

“I know, if you can play, you can play, or whatever, but that’s-- I don’t know. They don’t really sell that message.”

“Yeah, they’re kinda sucky about it,” says Connor. “But like-- there are a bunch of dudes in the league. Only two who are dating each other, but like, I think at some level, every club has one or two guys who are gay.”

The word startles him. Dylan’s only called himself gay out loud once, and it was to Mitch, the night before the draft. They’d been cuddling, because it was Mitch, and Mitch was pressed up behind him, and it felt nice to be like this with another guy, even if it was just Mitch.

“I think I’m gay,” Dylan had said nonchalantly, even though he was terrified.

“Hm?” Mitch had responded. “Are you serious?”

“Like, 90% sure, yeah,” Dylan had said. “I’m not-- like, I’m not in love with you, or anything, just--”

“I get it, man,” Mitch had said. “No worries, we’re good. Congrats.”

Dylan shares the memory with Connor, who smiles a bit.

“Aw,” he says.

“Shut up,” Dylan responds, shoving him a bit. “But like, uh, yeah.”

“We-- let’s go back to my place,” Connor says, and Dylan shrugs and picks himself up off the ground.  

* * *

When they get to Connor’s apartment, Dylan sits down on Connor’s couch. Connor lies down with his head in Dylan’s lap, and Dylan begins to play with his hair.

Connor shares a bit of the inside of his head, but it’s a jumbled mess of pre-game jitters and confusion and excitement, and Dylan can’t untangle it any better than Connor can. So all he says is, “dude, what’s up?”

“I-- I want to talk about this,” says Connor, “but I don’t know if it’s a good idea before the game.”

Dylan can feel what Connor means by that: he’s scared if it doesn’t go well, he won’t be able to focus, and he can’t afford to lose focus right now, not when things are going pretty okay for him, hockey-wise.

“I think that no matter what, we’ll be okay,” says Dylan.

Connor shrugs, and opens his mouth to say something before he closes it. “I don’t-- saying things is hard, so I’m just going to--” he gestures towards his brain, and Dylan nods.

Dylan learns that Connor has always been a little obsessed with his hockey, which is a bit flattering, considering Connor’s captaining an NHL team. It’s mostly his skating-- Connor has a crazy amount of knowledge about what Dylan’s feet can and can’t do on the ice, which he’s catalogued carefully over the years.

He also learns that at the end of their last season in Erie, Connor had almost kissed him, but they’d both been sick and Connor was too scared.

He learns that Connor misses him more in Edmonton than he’s ever let on, and that he wishes they were at least closer together, and one of the reasons he didn’t know this was coming was because Edmonton had been two years of near-constant communicating anyway, and it had never felt like enough, and only recently had it begun to feel like less than not enough.

Dylan doesn’t know what this all adds up to, and it seems that Connor doesn’t either.

“It’s just--” says Connor, “I don’t know, it’s been a long time since I like, dated anyone or did anything, and we’re like, bonded now, but I just-- there’s something here,” he says. “Or like, there was back in Erie, and I thought it would go away, but then it didn’t.”

“Dude,” is all Dylan can say, because that’s a lot of information to take in at once.

“I’m sorry, is that-- was it too much?” Connor sounds worried again, and Dylan sends him a definitive message to calm down, that it was okay, that it’s really good that Connor shared that.

“There’s-- there’s something here, yeah,” says Dylan. “I mean-- shit, man, I don’t know.”

And he doesn’t, or at least, he doesn’t have the words to say it, but he does let Connor know what he’s feeling, which, roughly, translates into _I’d do anything for you, and you’re insanely good looking and I love spending time with you_ , which is probably at least a little bit like being in love.

“You--” says Connor, who furrows his brow. “So do you want to?”

“I--” Dylan doesn’t know, and because they’re sort of a package deal now, and he’s not ready to commit to spending the rest of their lives as a more or less married couple.

“We can just-- try? And if it doesn’t work out, we go from there?” Connor says.

It might not work out. There’s a chance that it might not work out, and it could still be okay, and so Dylan says, “alright.”

“Yeah?” says Connor, and Dylan doesn’t have to be bonded to Connor to know that he’s excited and terrified at once.

“Yeah,” says Dylan.

“Okay, so I’m just gonna--” Connor picks his head up off of Dylan’s lap, then squares himself on the couch so they’re facing each other. Dylan isn’t surprised when Connor leans in to kiss him, but it’s a new sensation to have his face this close to Connor’s.

Connor’s lips are soft. This is the first thing that strikes Dylan, and he wants Connor to know that, so he opens up his mind and shares all the thoughts he has about Connor as they come to him. His lips are soft, and it’s a little surreal to him that Connor wants to be here, and wants to be kissing him, but then Connor shares his side with Dylan, and he’s ecstatic. Every part of Dylan wants to not believe it, because believing that your best friend wants you back after like, three years, is kind of a risky bet, but no, he wants him, and the amount he wants him is overwhelming.

“Jesus,” says Dylan.

Connor smiles at him shyly, and Dylan doesn’t know how to process that, so he just kisses him again.

* * *

That night, Dylan sits in the crowd, a hoodie pulled low over his head, and he can’t send Connor advice mid-game, but he can send good vibes his way, lets him know that he’s excited to watch him play and that he looks really good out on the ice.

Connor scores a goal, and he silently dedicates it to Dylan.

**Author's Note:**

> I have a lot of feelings about this verse, and these boys in general! A couple of things: the Leafs apparently had a game in Florida on March 28th, so Mitch wouldn't have been driving around on his own, whoops! Also, the time line of Dylan's flight is a bit sketchy, and I doubt he could just... leave without telling anyone where he was going. But it would be so much less compelling, narratively, if he like, asked for permission, and this is my story, so I do what I want (honestly he probably gets a stern talking-to). As far as I know, Dylan wasn't present at the March 28th Oilers game. But Connor did actually score a goal in that game, and Erie did actually beat Sarnia the night before. I also have no clue if Dylan would be allowed to just use the Oilers practice facilities. Who knows, honestly. I just wanted to write a story about hockey players working out their feelings. 
> 
> Hope y'all enjoyed this! Feel free to leave comments/questions (I could go on and on about this verse)


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